Severus gently pushed her onto her hands and knees. She knew now how to read desire in his eyes, and she saw it then: the way they darkened and widened with anticipation as he looked at her. He was a gentle and attentive lover, as avid a student of her pleasure as he was with a potions textbook. He had laughed when she told him this.

She spread her legs for him, wiggling her bum teasingly, and he eased into her with a moan of her name. Gods, how she loved the feeling of him inside her, the fullness, the weight of it.

"Severus," she whimpered, and he growled in pleasure, a low, guttural sound of pure animal joy.

"Say my name again. Louder."

"Severus!" He was teasing her, stopping just short of the spot he knew she needed him to hit, his fingers dancing around her clit. He knew how to do this so well… "Deeper," she panted.

"What do you say?" His baritone voice was wicked as he pulled almost all the way out of her, making her hiss with frustration. "What do you say?" he drawled again in response. She turned over her shoulder to look at him, shaking hair out of her eyes.

"Filthy fucking bastard," she said with a smile, as his cock dipped every so slightly into her. She bit her lip. "Please…" she whimpered, and he slammed into her obligingly with a cry of pleasure.

"Please what?"

"Exceptionally filthy fucking… mmmm… bastard… Please fuck me, Severus. Please."

Penelope mentally dragged herself kicking and screaming from this pleasant memory. The last time she had seen Severus had been… intense. She smiled to herself, turning her attention back to the draft of her latest article. She would be seeing him in a week, she reminded herself. Just seven short days until the start of term; surely she could keep it in her robes until then.

Last school year had slipped by so fast; between her Order duties, her research, worrying about Severus, tending to Severus, and dating Severus, it was a wonder she'd had any time left to actually teach. They had kept their relationship a secret from everyone save Dumbledore and McGonagall, the latter of whom had aided and abetted them in their relentless quest to find time together away from prying eyes. Penelope knew there was a war on, but even with the news becoming grimmer and grimmer each day, she hadn't been able to shake the happiness that buoyed her in spite of everything. They had each other and it was going to be alright…

But summer was a different story. That new-relationship glow had quickly faded in their long stretches apart. Between his increasingly frequent summons and her lengthy trips to the Elgin Forest to liaise with the centaurs, it was rare for them to be in the same part of the country, and even when they were it often wasn't safe to see each other. Going out in public was out of the question; they hadn't gone on a proper date since that one night at the symphony.

She sighed. Looking back, it seemed like a blissful dream, even though she remembered full well how awkward everything had been at first. Worries about a first kiss and what outfit to wear seemed so small and distant now, now that her dreams were haunted by images of his dead body, or a tear-stained letter in her hands telling her there wasn't enough left of him to save…

She had not shared these dreams with him. When they were together, they were together, and it was as if the war was happening somewhere else for a little while. They spent as much time fucking as they did talking, anyway. When they were apart, there was no use wasting the ink. If she had nightmares, he certainly had worse. Their fears lingered between them unspoken, like so many things.

She pushed her ink-blotted parchment aside with a sigh, aware she was fighting a losing battle, and reached into her pocket for the photograph. It was creased from being kept on her person constantly; she didn't dare leave it lying around, seeing as it was foolhardy enough to have it in the first place. If Severus knew, he would have bicorns.

It was the only photograph of them she had. A mortified Colin Creevey had inadvertently captured her and Severus kissing outside her office last term; it was all she could do to keep Severus from strangling the poor boy. She had taken the photograph from him and promised she would burn it, as she had everything else, but once she was alone in her office the task became so much harder.

What if he dies anyway? she had thought, hunched over the photograph, trying to memorize every line on his beloved face. We're in danger every minute of every day, no matter what I do… I couldn't bear it if he was gone and I had nothing, no photographs, no letters…

And the photograph really was lovely, as odd and surprising as their relationship itself. She watched as Severus cupped her face gently in his large hands, his dark eyes intent on hers. He leaned down and kissed her, his silky curtain of hair falling in front of his face, and then abruptly pulled away, glowering at the camera… It happened again and again, the creases and worn places where she had held the picture so many times making the figures somewhat blurry.

Just one more week, she reminded herself firmly. Still, it was hard to shake the sense of foreboding that hung over her so often these days. One more week… but how long will I get to have him after that? She stared at the photograph and got the oddest sense that she was looking at him for the last time, as if she was already saying goodbye.

Severus,

Another sunny day out in the forest, thinking of you. It's wonderful to be working with the centaurs—they've been my friends and colleagues these many years—but they don't understand much about this foolish human pining. Because that's definitely what I'm doing. What has it been, five weeks since last we saw each other? Even the love bites fading a few weeks ago made me sad (thanks again for that, by the way). I'm quite determined to miss you, so naturally I have to make everything into an occasion to do just that.

I've been diligently reading the book you sent me, and I'd love your opinion on Warlock Droopert's hypothesis about aging spells. I think he could have done more research into Muggle science—but then again, he was a stodgy old prune, wasn't he? Reading him has been immensely helpful for my research, though. I think I'm nearing a breakthrough

The rest of the letter was obscured by an open book entitled Muggle Medicine, Magical Methods: A Crossroads in the Healing Arts, as well as a large amber bottle of firewhiskey. Severus did not normally leave his books lying open. He was particularly fastidious when it came to their care, and to keeping the spines intact. Severus also did not usually forgo books for firewhiskey but if there was ever a night for it, this was it.

Would you like me to do it now, he had said, or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph? Penelope's deadpan humor was infectious. He had started to adopt some of her ways of speaking, as though the lines between them were blurring. The thought of her made his stomach clench and he reached for the bottle, pouring himself another shot. He had pretty much given up drinking since they started dating… Dammit. The amber liquid burned as it went down, but it did nothing to soothe the pain searing within him.

Kill Dumbledore. Part of him wanted to deny that it would ever come to that, but he knew better. The Dark Lord had assigned this gruesome mission to the Malfoy boy, in the full knowledge he would fail and someone else would have to carry out the task. But why him? Oh, gods, why did it have to be him?

Severus saw the letter left sitting on his desk and snatched it up guiltily, smoothing it out and folding it before he burned it like he had all the others. Dumbledore's predictions were always uncannily good, he thought as the trickle of smoke burned his nostrils. And Severus had promised him everything, all those years ago. The old bastard was going to hold him to his word.

But Penelope… It was he that had made that promise, not her. He had offered himself up as the bearer of the war's suffering, the executor of its dirtiest and most impossible tasks—and yet, by loving her, he had ensured she would bear that suffering along with him. By foolishly, selfishly loving her, he had set himself up to betray her.

He took another swig of firewhiskey, feeling it sear the back of his throat as he choked on his tears. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do it.